


Reality Imitates Fiction

by deanbeltingbohemianrhapsody



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, Nightmares, Science Fiction, in that questionably fantastical Doctor Who way, references to S6 E9 Night Terrors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10635246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanbeltingbohemianrhapsody/pseuds/deanbeltingbohemianrhapsody
Summary: After the the discovery of Eurus and the restoration of 221b, a new normal has settled into the lives of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. John occupies his house with baby Rosie, hoping to raise her in as secure an environment as she can have with a single father. Sherlock still sees them often, frequently lending a hand in babysitting and changing nappies, but his pesky emotions have reared their ugly head again. Loneliness despite it all, shame for his less than platonic feeling towards his best friend, and somehow, unexplainably but strongest of all, fear. Fear of losing the parts he's lucky enough to have. Terror begins to bleed from his dreams into waking life, blurring the lines between fact and fiction.Meanwhile, the Doctor is noticing certain anomalies in reality. What is a piece of fiction from the Victorian Era doing in the 21st century?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This the first fanfic I fully intend to complete and I basically just started it. So, if you are interested, I highly recommend you subscribe and come back when I know what I'm doing. Enjoy this little tidbit for now.

     It was an unassuming January night. Thick snowflakes landed outside a wood paneled window, silent and and sluggish, a stark comparison to a house that was currently uncharacteristically warm, and buzzing with a new voice: the shrill, demanding musings of a newborn. Eurus sat to the side, unsettled by this unexpected change in a world which, to her, was usually an open book. Despite being only two years old, she spoke with a vocabulary which gave her the ability to easily communicate with any adult she saw fit. The effort she had to put into reading, however was getting on her nerves. Despite a week’s effort, she still hadn’t gotten even halfway through The Hounds of the Baskervilles. But even with her impressive communication skills, she couldn't even begin to approach her mother with the subject that was currently wailing in front of her. Luckily, her mother made the first move.

     “Eurus, sweetie, come look at your new brother. Isn’t he just darling” she crooned, tears of joy streaming down her face. Eurus was puzzled, faced with an unequal equation. No, this must be one of those “joke” things.

     “Mummy,” the girl asserted in an almost scolding tone, “I understand how babies are created, and I know for certain that you have shown no signs of pregnancy over the last nine months. Please take me seriously enough to tell me the truth.”  
Her mother’s face went blank for a moment, as if she was failing to remember something, but it quickly went back to a welcoming grin.

     “Don’t be silly, dear, come and see baby Sherlock”  
_Sherlock?_ Eurus thought, _Wasn’t Mycroft enough to satisfy your literary obsession?_ Irked as she was, the girl turned her gaze toward the child like her mother had told her. It didn’t seem particularly different from any other newborn, but the Euros was suddenly struck with the undeniable feeling that this was an intruder.

  
     “You need to get rid of it mother,” Euros stated, tone now entirely severe. The woman seemed to catch the gravity of her words this time, her demeanor becoming one of concern.

  
     “I know that this is hard for you to understand, but you will be just as important to me as you always have been. And I know one day you’ll grow to love Sherlock as a brother and as a friend, even if it takes some time. But trust me, your new sibling will fit right into the house. And being your brother, he’s bound to have the second most brilliant mind of the century.”

  
     The unknown future of this small, Winston Churchill-looking creature made Euros’ head spin, but she felt, despite the erroneousness of all the other things her mother had just said, that that last bit was unquestionable.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how long that took. Mental illness and all. The story seems to be going on it's chosen route, the only change being that I decided to put in Rose instead of Donna, since she's slightly easier to write. Enjoy!

     “Thanks for doing this for doing this for me again Sherlock, I don’t know how I’d manage her without you.” 

     John Watson hands his daughter to his friend before grabbing the door handle and leaving with a wide eyed baby, just starting to tear up at the departure of her parent. 

     “There’s no need to worry, Watson,” her caretaker proclaims. “If there’s one thing your father always does, it’s come back.” Words meant to comfort Rosie, but they may bee more for himself than anyone else. Before the baby can begin to bawl, Sherlock digs through the diaper bag, finding her favorite rattle. After some cajoling and a few upper hand throws, Rosie is occupied with her toy, speaking to it in gibberish and occasionally turning to Sherlock to smile and wave her arms about. 

     Spending time with Rosie has taught the detective how to revel in these small moments when there are no grandiose puzzles to solve, no assassins to fight, and no lives on the line. He’s learned that sometimes those quiet moments in the late morning can be just as satisfying as unraveling a criminal network. However, unlike a criminal network, these moments are fleeting. 

     It’s only a matter of time until John fins a stepmother for Rosie and the godfather is pushed into second place. Rosie deserves that, he thinks. A caretaker who doesn’t keep a collection of toxins on their kitchen cabinet or a semi-automatic pistol in their coat pocket. 

     Rosie coos and her godfather grins. As long has he can have this, he will cherish it.

                                                                                             -------------

     After a couple of passages from his favorite book on the classifications of flowers, Sherlock finally gets Rosie to rest for her afternoon   nap. Gingerly shutting the door behind him and walking into the living room, Sherlock notes that he isn’t alone.

     “She’s growing up to be lovely, isn’t she?”

     The man turns his head to look at the short blonde woman with a soft, mournful smile.

     “Mary,” he says, setting the book down, “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

     She laughs, “You saw me yesterday while walking with John through the park.”

     “Don’t remind me, if I weren’t constantly distracted in my normal state, he might have thought something was wrong with me.”

     Mary smiles. Sherlock sits down on the sofa and grabs his newspaper. After a few moments of forced silence he realizes he simply can’t focus on anything while Mary’s around. He stares up at the ghost before him, frustrated at the lack of anything to deduce.

     The woman sighs, “I suppose you would ask why I’m here, but I think you already know that.” She sits down next to him “you feel lonely and you’re thinking of John. I always come when you feel lonely and you’re thinking about John.”

     “Don’t be silly,” Sherlock replies, “I saw you yesterday when I was with him, why would I be lonely when I’m with someone?”

     “Why indeed?” Mary says, as if that is the answer. The puzzled look on Sherlock’s face is annoyingly involuntary. Why must he have hallucinations for every emotion?

     “Not every emotion,” she interrupts (he had to stop forgetting that she was part of his mind) “but I know that you have a companion in your fears as well, don’t you?”

     With that, the ghost leaves and the great detective is left alone with his thoughts and not a clue what to do with them.

                                                                                        -------------

     “Thanks again, mate. I ought to start paying you at this rate.”

     “No worries, John,” Sherlock grins, “you know there’s plenty of wealth to go around in the Holmes family.”

     John laughs in that way that made the sun seem dull and grabs the Rosie, now tucked comfortably in her carrier.

     “I’ll see you tomorrow, let me know if any cases pop up” He adds, walking down the stairs.

     “I will,” John is out the door by now, but Sherlock feels like it needs to be said.

     “I will.”

     The silence in these moments is unbearable, but not as unbearable as the flood of emotions that comes afterwards. 

     “Hellooooooo.”

     And the visitors, it would seem. In sharp contrast to Mary’s soft warmth, Sherlock’s other specter makes the whole room seem colder.

     “What do you want?” He snaps in a way that would make anyone else shrink into themselves. But getting rid of Moriarty was never that easy.

     “Oh you know, the uuuusual,” the monster replies, sauntering toward him from the other side of the room. “A little fun, a few laughs, quality words exchanged by old friends.”

     Sherlock refuses to give him even the pleasure of looking up. Not that that stops him.

     “A mind palace is no fun without its host, you should come join me sometime,” Moriarty cackles, “reminisce on the good old days when my heart still beat.”

     “Yes they were good,” Sherlock replies, deadpan, “I had the pleasure of only having to look at you through security camera footage.”

     “Oh, surely you don’t mean that. I always felt that there was a special spark in the air when I got to see you face to face.”

     Sherlock sits down and grabs his newspaper again. Maybe he should try not to interact. Denial has never staved off his ghosts before, but he supposes that it’s best to cover all possibilities multiple times.

     “Don’t ignore me like that, dearie, you know I’ll just pester you more in your sleep when you can’t get away.”

     Sherlock does his best to conceal his fear, but it’s no good trying to hide anything from someone who’s already in your head.

     “I can do this all day you know,” Moriarty sits down in the red patterned chair across from Sherlock, daring him to say something.

     “I know!” Moriarty gasps, “how about I list all the people who have died because of you in chronological order!”

     The specter claps his hands together and Sherlock knows that it’s going to be a long night. 

                                                                                         -------------

     Three hundred years in the future, an alien and a human sit across from each other.

     “You would think that in all this time, they would have learned how to perfect chips,” the blonde human says, throwing her offenders back on their plate.

     “Deep fryers never were the same after the second industrial revolution,” the alien who looks like a tall man with spiky hair replies.

     The human stands up. “Look it may not be all that impressive, but how about I take you back to my favorite place in london, best fish and chips you’ve ever had.” 

    “Alright,” says the alien, grabbing his companion’s hand, “21st century fish and chips it is.”

     The two step into a blue spaceship with the words “Police public call Box” on it and go back in time for lunch. 

 


End file.
